Knocking On The Door To Your Heart
by Light Saber Muffins
Summary: Marcus Flint has had an admirer named Alison Thornewell since his second year. Oliver Wood and Alison's friend, Margaret Hillsworth, begin to like each other. What happens when Marcus starts to have feelings for Alison? How will they all get along?
1. Character Profiles

Summary: Marcus Flint has had an admirer named Alison Thornewell since his second year. Oliver Wood and Alison's friend, Margaret Hillsworth, begin to like each other. What happens when Marcus starts to have feelings for Alison? How will they all get along?

* * *

Name: Margaret Hillsworth

Sex: Female

Age: 15

Birthday: March 8

Year: 5th

House: Hufflepuff

Description: Margaret has long straight brown hair and blue eyes, which lie underneath her glasses. She is a shy girl who blushes very often. She is very shy about her crush on Oliver Wood, a fifth year Gryffindor and Quidditch captain of his house team. Her best friend is Alison Thornewell. She is good at Transfiguration and Potions, but is bad in Herbology. She plays Quidditch for her house team; her position is beater.

**

* * *

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Name: Alison Thornewell

Sex: Female

Age: 15

Birthday: March 18

Year: 5th

House: Ravenclaw

Description: Alison has short curly auburn hair and dark brown eyes, which lie underneath her glasses. She has a crush on Marcus Flint, a 6th year Slytherin who is captain of the house Quidditch team. She doesn't hide her crush on Marcus at all; in fact, almost everyone at Hogwarts knows about it, including Marcus, as she is constantly showing him affection (hugging him, etc). She is very intelligent and excels in all of her classes, especially Potions. She is best friends with Margaret Hillsworth. She would love to play Quidditch, although that would be rather impossible, because of several reasons, which be revealed later in the story.


	2. Chapter One: Back To Hogwarts

**Chapter One: Back to Hogwarts**

**A.K.A. Why Isn't She In Slytherin?**

Margaret Hillsworth often wonders how her best friend, Alison Thornewell, didn't end up in Slytherin. She likes Potions, thinks Professor Snape is "bloody brilliant for an old git," is very cunning and mischievous, and has a huge crush on the Slytherin Quidditch captain, Marcus Flint.

Speaking of which, Alison is currently trying to find a compartment near where Marcus is sitting. "Maybe we can even sit with him!" she squeals excitedly, throwing open another compartment door. "Full again!"

"Don't you think this is a bit much?" asks Margaret, even though she already knows the answer.

"No. Besides, all those compartments were full," Alison replies, then stops. "I bet you he's in this one."

She knocks on the door and it opens to reveal a tall sixth year boy with short black hair, grey eyes and a slight frown on his face. He is already wearing his robes, which show by the colors that he is in Slytherin.

"Hi, Marcus. Can we sit with you?" Alison inquires.

"…'we'?" he asks, smirking.

"Yes, we," she begins, "me and Marg- wait, where'd she go? Margaret! Margaret Hillsworth!"

"Fuck. Stop yelling. Get in and sit down if you're staying; if not, leave," Marcus says, walking back into the compartment. Alison follows and sits down next to the Slytherin boy, who squirms uneasily. "You can sit over there, you know. There's no one there."

"I know," she yawns, "but you're much more comfortable than the window. Besides, Margaret will be in here in a second, I know it. So calm down. Just because I like you doesn't mean I'm gonna molest you or something…" Her voice trailed off as she fell asleep on Marcus's unwilling shoulder.

"Damn it!" he roared, oblivious to the fact that Margaret had just sat down opposite them both, now dressed in Hogwarts robes.

"If you don't want her there, just move her," Margaret says, knowing he won't. The sixth year glares at the Hufflepuff girl, showing her 'the finger,' but doesn't move Alison. "That's what I thought."

"Shut the fuck up, Hillsworth," is all he says. 'How does she always know-?'

Alison snuggles closer to Marcus, hugging him like a stuffed bear. Margaret laughs. Marcus's wide-eyed expression soon changes to a glare. Alison suddenly jumps up and throws open the door. "Robes," she says simply, walking off to change.

Marcus turns away as Margaret speaks. "You and I both know you like her. And _everyone _knows she likes you." She sighs, frustrated. "Why won't either of you act on it and ask the other out?"

He ignores her, knowing she didn't expect an answer, anyway. After all, this had been happening since his fourth year at Hogwarts. (It took him two whole years to warm up to Alison, who he had originally found very annoying.)

Alison rushes back in the compartment, sitting next to Margaret this time, very surprisingly. "I hate Gryffindorks," she sneers.

"Why? What happened?" asks Margaret.

"Bloody Percival Weasley. Walked in on me while I was changing in the _girls'_ changing rooms! The little pervert!"

Marcus suddenly seems very angry and marches confidently out of the compartment, only to burst out laughing. Margaret runs out after him, only to see Percy Weasley stuck to the ceiling by his hair wearing nothing but his boxers. She begins to giggle, then fully roars with laughter.

Alison came up behind them, grinning. "Did I forget to tell you? I jinxed him," she smirks. "How many house points do you think he'll try to take, hmm?"

"I don't know," came a new voice, "but I imagine the professors will be upset. By the way, have any of you seen a toad? Neville Longbottom's lost one." Receiving a 'no,' she continues on, "I'm Hermione Granger. Who are you three?" she asks, looking expectantly, for some reason, at Marcus.

Alison snarls, snaking her arms around Marcus's waist, and scowls menacingly at Hermione. "Nasty little first year," she spits out cruelly, "I'm Alison Thornewell. She's Margaret Hillsworth and this is my boyfriend, Marcus Flint, who you better not look at or talk to again. Otherwise, your teeth won't be the only thing on you that looks like a beaver."

Hermione obviously believes Alison, as she scurries off down the train, her face pale. Alison cackles evilly, then coughs, letting go of Marcus. "Sorry, didn't mean to call you my boyfriend… impulsive jealousy, I guess." The Slytherin merely shrugged, walking back into the compartment.

"I don't know why you bothered to go back in there, Flint," Margaret calls. "We're here."

He scoffs and walks back out, only to have Alison jump on his back. For some reason, she calls this "glomping."

"So, Alison, you're just going to leave Weasley there?" asks Margaret, grinning widely.

"Don't see why not. He deserves it," Marcus replies before the Ravenclaw girl can even open her mouth.

"Well said!" Alison exclaims from her place on his back. "Good-bye, Percival! Have fun, you pervert!"

They find the only empty carriage and settle into it, as Alison finally gets off of Marcus's back. Soon, a guy with short brown hair and olive green eyes steps in, introducing himself as Oliver Wood, and asks if he can sit there.

Margaret says a quiet 'yes' as Marcus scowls and grabs Alison's hand. Alison blinks, and realizes that Marcus _is_ holding her hand for no reason. She smiles widely with only a small hint of a blush on her cheeks.

Alison looks over at Margaret and Oliver and notices that they are both blushing furiously, looking away from the other. She giggles and Marcus, realizing what he is doing, quickly drops her hand from his grasp and turns away, stuttering an apology.

An awkward silence follows, which Alison cannot stand. Frustrated, she says the first thing that comes to her mind. "So… what'd you think of what I did to Percival the Pervert?"

This was addressed to Oliver, who quickly answered with a shocked expression on his face. "That was you?" he says incredulously. "Awful. But incredibly brilliant, I must say. Hey, who do you guys think will win the house cup this year?"

"I'm not sure… I hope it's Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, though," Margaret says, blushing.

"Slytherin," Marcus states plainly.

"Obviously it's not gonna be Ravenclaw. Did you know I've been the first person to lose house points for three years in a row? I'll probably have to go to Dumbledore's after sorting… sorry. Slytherin will win, of course, Oliver. We're here, by the way."

'She's on a first-name basis with Wood?' Marcus thinks, following Alison out of the carriage, along with Oliver and Margaret. (He doesn't seem to notice that she calls everyone by their first name… except under certain circumstances.)

Everyone is seated and waiting for the sorting to begin (with the exception of the first years), when Percy comes in with Professor McGonagall, who casts a look of disapproval in Alison's direction. Alison, who is seated at the Ravenclaw table, ignores her and turns to stare at Marcus for a bit.

A few minutes later, she suddenly jumps up. "Margaret!" she calls, running toward the Hufflepuff table. "Come sit with me!"

"Okay," Margaret sighs, "but only because you're my best friend and nobody cares anymore." Alison grins widely, practically dragging her over to the Ravenclaw table.

They sit down and, as expected, Alison turns toward the Slytherin table and continues to stare at Marcus. "Marcus is _so_ cool," she says dreamily.

"If you like him so much, why don't you ask him out or something? He doesn't seem to mind that you like him," Margaret mentions. "I think he might like you."

"Margaret… not many people have admirers who will stand around waving little fans and screaming at the top of their lungs, cheering them on at everything, and not just at Quidditch, mind you. I imagine that would give someone a load of confidence, not that Marcus needs it. But, I mean, why would he mind? He wouldn't."

"But-"

"And, anyway, where are we supposed to go on a date, hmm? Hogsmeade? I always go to Hogsmeade with _you_. So who would _you _go with then?"

"Well," Margaret starts, blushing, "I could ask… maybe I could ask…"

"Not _him_! How could… oh, never mind, you're right. You probably could ask the Gryffindor. After all, I think he likes you."

Blushing furiously, Margaret says, "You really think-? Never mind that. Anyway, there's no denying that Flint likes you. There are several facts. For instance, do you remember last year when you had to go to hospital and missed the match? Flint seemed really worried and they lost. I really think-"

"Abbott, Susan!" calls Professor McGonagall.

"Guess sorting's started," Margaret says, ignoring a very happy and sparkly-eyed Alison, who is now whispering excitedly to herself while, once again, staring at the Slytherin table.

Many more first years are called up, until "Potter, Harry" is finally called. Most of the students gasp excitedly, while Alison (who has finally started paying attention) scoffs, along with a few Slytherins.

This was one of those times that made Margaret wonder how Alison didn't end up in Slytherin.

* * *

Go to hospital: This is not a typo. They actually say this in the movie, the book, and, I imagine, in England as well.

* * *

A/N: Black Kitty wants you to know that as long as she's writing this the Ravenclaw colors will be black and blue, Marcus Flint and Oliver Wood will look as described above, and Hermione will have beaver teeth, just like she's supposed to. Reviews anyone? I do believe Iwant some… 


	3. Chapter Two: Quidditch

**Chapter Two: Quidditch**

**A.K.A. What!**

"Did you hear? Harry Potter's the new Gryffindor Seeker! Look, there he is! What the…?"

Margaret whirls around, and sees Harry Potter walking down the corridor with his sidekicks. Upon closer inspection, she sees that Alison is walking along the side, bombarding him with questions.Alison runs her own newspaper (The Gray of the Silver Lining), although it's a shock that it's not banned. It's incredibly biased.

"So, Harry," Alison says deviously, "you must be pretty good to be a Seeker in your first year. Youngest Quidditch player in over a century, yes... But isn't it true that you disregarded Madame Hooch's instructions? That you flew without any experience and risked your safety?"

"Yes, but-" He was doomed.

"Well, don't you think you should be punished then? Do you really think you're so special? That you should be rewarded for breaking the rules? You are not talented, Harry; you are merely privileged. Do you have any idea why you're so good at magic, even though you've been raised by muggles? Oh, I suppose not. You don't have a clue—" She suddenly stops. "Hi, Marcus. Where are you going?"

"Quidditch practice," he states simply, walking toward the field. Alison follows, completely forgetting about Harry.

Margaret walks up to Harry and says, "You're lucky, you know. She could've ruined you. And you deserve it, too. But no matter. Once Flint goes away for a little while she'll get you; she'll destroy you."

Margaret then turns and walks toward the Quidditch pitch as well, disregarding the whispers of Harry Potter and His Followers of Gold. 'They're blundering idiots, anyway.'

Arriving at the field, Margaret finds that Marcus and Oliver are having a confrontation which is about to become a full-out brawl. She is about to step between them, when Alison punches Oliver _and_ Marcus, which is a complete shock, even to Alison.

"Shit," mutters Marcus, rubbing his jaw. "You got an arm on you…"

"Yeah," agrees Oliver, "why aren't you on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team? You'd make a good—bloody hell!" He suddenly grabs his chin and mimics Marcus's motions. The pain must have just hit him.

"Right," says Margaret, "what the hell was that about anyway?"

"Quidditch practice, Seeker training, very important," Alison sneers. "Stupid reasons to fight, you know. Utterly pointless."

"Yeah, well, just a second ago you—" yells Marcus, becoming livid.

"I know I was the one who actually struck a blow. I didn't think that… I thought you… what I mean is…" Alison begins to walk away. "Sorry," she mumbles.

"Damn. You got her to apologize," Margaret says incredulously. "She must really fucking love you."

* * *

"No way! That's ridiculous!" Alison's screams were audible over everything else in the stadium, as usual. "Lee, you better take back that call…!" 

Alison is renowned for exacting her revenge when you anger her, no matter what the cost. (After all, she had 'punished' Percy Weasley for accidents caused by his 'lack of focus' and 'pure stupidity,' despite him being 'one intelligent fucker.')

It is also a well-known fact that, ever since he became commentator, Lee Jordan was undeniably afraid of Alison. So, of course, he changes the score back to what it was previously, but comments that he is not scared of Alison, he merely "made a mistake about the actions on the field, okay!"

"Miss Thornewell, if you continue to threaten Mr. Jordan I will—" McGonagall stopped in mid-sentence, watching as "Marcus Flint grabs a club from one of the Slytherin beaters and hits a bludger viciously toward Oliver Wood—Foul! Foul!"

As Margaret was overly, albeit unnoticeably, concerned about Oliver being hurt, whispering quietly "Oliver, please be okay…" She began ringing her hands together nervously.

Alison, however, was undoubtedly happy about Marcus "murdering" Oliver, and wasted no time letting the world know that she thought it was brilliant.

Despite all of Marcus's attempts at winning, whether by fairness or cheating, mostly the latter, and Harry's jinxed broom, which Alison was delighted to see, Slytherin lost to Gryffindor when Harry nearly swallowed the snitch. Marcus kept moaning about losing and was definitely going to punish Terrence Higgs, the Slytherin Seeker, for their defeat.

Alison and Margaret shook their heads. "Poor Terrence," Alison says forlornly. Margaret nods her head in agreement, although she is more worried about Oliver than anything.

* * *

A few weeks later in Potions, Alison and Margaret sit in the back, hoping to avoid the other students. Both being very advanced in Potions, they have the class with sixth year students. Marcus, too, was in this class, although he was not known for his intellect, because, hey, it's Potions, and he's in Slytherin. Besides, he _is_ in his sixth year. 

Everyone knew that when Professor Snape arrived they would be assigned partners, as usual. They never got the same partners, it seemed. However, Snape seemed very fond of having Alison work with Marcus on everything they did and today was no different.

It's not as though Alison minds, it's just that sometimes she wants to work with Margaret, who is better at Potions than Marcus. Besides, Margaret always gets paired with some pervert who continuously make passes at her, and Alison is getting tired of knocking sense into people when class is over. And sometimes, even though Alison is 'madly in love' with Marcus, she just doesn't want to be around him.

But there's no sense in trying to talk Professor Snape out of something, because, no matter how brilliant he is, he's still a "fucking git" to everyone. So Alison doesn't bother, hoping that no one will be stupid today. Hoping that she won't "accidentally" brush her fingers against Marcus's.

And wanting, for the first time ever, for Potions to be over, because, suddenly, Marcus is brushing _his_ fingers against hers and she can't breathe, and she needs to get out so it can be over because she's blushing and she hates it but it won't stop.

"Professor," she croaks, "I need to go to the Hospital Wing." She suddenly slides down onto the floor. Margaret jumps up immediately, rushing to Alison's side. She lifts Alison onto her back and runs all the way to the hospice, disregarding Professor Snape (who seems very intent on having Marcus take Alison to the infirmary.)

When they finally arrive, Madame Pomfrey reacts calmly. "Dear," she says, "could you open your mouth? You need a drop of this"—she held up a vial of something thick and purple—"to calm your nerves."

Alison follows Madame Pomfrey's instructions and soon falls asleep. Within an hour, she is awake and feeling better. All of the sudden, she shakes her head and gasps out, "Did you see, Margaret? Did you see what he did? That was really weird…"

Margaret nods, letting her continue. "Wait, did anyone hit on you? I'll kill them if they did. Filthy buggers. Oi, I know just what to do! Front page of Silver Lining: 'Perverted Gits, Stay Away From Margaret Hillsworth!' How's it sound?"

Margaret laughs. "You don't have to do that. No one hit on me today. I was barely in class at all… You've been in here most of Potions, you know."

"I have? How long have I been here?" Alison looks surprised, stumbling out of bed. "If Marcus messed up on the Potion, I swear I'll murder him." She staggers toward the door, mumbling about her foot being asleep, and makes her way down the hall with Margaret hurrying after her, ignoring Madame Pomfrey's protests.

Arriving in the Potions room, they realize that today was Double Potions, so they had a longer class time. Rushing over to Marcus, Alison checks the potion, discovering that all is right with the world and Marcus already got their grade, a one hundred percent, and was just about to go check on her in the Hospital Wing.

Margaret goes to her seat and sees that her partner had messed up terribly and heard from her that Professor Snape had taken points from Hufflepuff because of Margaret's "disrespect toward a teacher," but she doesn't care. In two days, the Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff game will be here and she has no time to worry about anything else. She only has time to practice, practice, practice.

It's really too bad that the rest of her team sucks.

* * *

"Margaret! Careful!" Alison yells as Margaret smacks a bludger away. Alison's eyes widen suddenly, and she waves her arms frantically in the air. "Marcus! Look out!" 

Marcus dodged the oncoming bludger just in time. It whizzed past him, ramming into the arm of the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, allowing the Hufflepuff Chasers to score.

"Good shot, Margaret!" Alison continues to scream loud enough for the entire stadium to hear. Suddenly, Marcus and Adrian Pucey, another Slytherin Chaser, ram a tiny Hufflepuff Chaser, a second year named Zacharias Smith, into the stands. "Alright, Marcus! Murder that Hufflepuff!"

It continues like this for a while, Slytherin and Hufflepuff each scoring and Alison cheering and getting herself confused. "Go Margaret! Kick some Slytherin arse! I mean… oh, fuck it. Look, would somebody just catch the bloody Snitch!"

Marcus (after flying at full speed toward them) knocks both Seekers away from the Snitch and grabs it. He smirks at Alison, who is blushing slightly. She starts to have that feeling again, when Marcus grabs the Slytherin Seeker by the scruff of his neck and shoves the Snitch in his hands.

"Um… thanks…?" says Terrence uncertainly.

"It seems, ladies and gentleman," Lee buts in, "that Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint is trying to impress Alison Thornewell—"

Alison stares for a second. 'What…?' She then decides to ignore him and starts walking off the pitch. Marcus follows suit; Oliver pauses to wait for Margaret to catch up.

When they catch up with her, Alison sighs. "I can't play Quidditch. Somewhat because my Mum and Dad won't let me; they're afraid I might get hurt," she says casually. "But mostly because _I'm_ afraid. I know I can't play Quidditch right. I can't stand heights. I can barely control the broom."

"Besides," she continues, "I hate most sports, anyway. And I get distracted. I wouldn't be able to concentrate. With, um, being afraid and all." She looks away. 'More like getting so caught up in trying to win to impress Marcus that I end up losing instead.'

"Yeah, well, we better hurry up. We have a trip to Hogsmeade in an hour," says Oliver calmly, staying as far from Marcus as possible. Margaret nods in agreement, walking a little closer to Oliver. Marcus doesn't say anything, just keeps walking.

Alison stares. "What!"

* * *

**  
A/N:** I forgot the disclaimer in the last one, so here it is. We do not own Harry Potter. All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Well, except for Margaret and Alison because, one, they're MY (I mean, OUR) characters, and, two, that'd just be really creepy. If there any misspellings grammar mistakes, blame Green Kitty, she's been rushing me. 

**To the only reviewer whose name I forgot (sorry!):** No, they're probably not gonna f- um, I mean, have sex. First of all, I really, really suck at sex scenes. And, no, I will _not _get Green Kitty to write it. And, anyway, it's not allowed here and I'm too lazy to post it somewhere else.

**About the story:** Margaret had to catch up because she changed into her school robes and showered and what not. I don't really see Marcus as caring too much about smelling bad or being in uniform, so he didn't need to 'catch up' as you can see. Also, any slang or anything that you don't get, tell me about it and I'll try to explain it to you. Well, except for "that feeling" because I have _no_ idea what the fuck that's supposed to be… If you have any suggestions about that at all, tell me. Please!


	4. Chapter Three: Hogsmeade

**Chapter Three: Hogsmeade  
****A.K.A. Fuck**

"Fuck," Alison mumbles to herself, getting ready to go to Hogsmeade. "Margaret is going to Hogsmeade with _Oliver_. And Marcus is going with his stupid little Slytherin Quidditch team. Thank Merlin I didn't ask him to go to Hogsmeade with me. I would've looked like a right prat." She starts walking into the common room. "Why do you have to go to Hogsmeade with somebody, anyway? That's stupid. Why can't you just go to Hogsmeade by yourself?"

She then notices that everybody was staring at her. "What? Is there something wrong with wearing Muggle clothes, then? Fuck off," she hisses, not realizing that they, too, are wearing Muggle clothes. "Shit, this Hogsmeade thing is really frustrating… ugh! I wish I had other friends." She sighs.

In the corridor, Alison bumps into Margaret and Oliver. "Hi, Alison," they say in unison, smiling. She nods and walks off, seething.

"What's her problem?" asks Oliver. Margaret shrugs, trying to make the best of being with Oliver.

They trail down the hall toward the carriages that take them to Hogsmeade. Arriving there, they find themselves in a carriage with Marcus and Adrian Pucey. (The rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team are in the next carriage, squished together.) They sit there in an awkward silence.

Marcus and Oliver glare at each other in silence. Margaret fidgets uneasily. Adrian sleeps, occasionally falling on Marcus's shoulder. Every time it happens, Marcus pushes him off immediately. There is always silence. Maybe Marcus should've asked Alison to go to Hogsmeade with him instead.

Meanwhile, Alison, a few carriages down, is sitting all alone, wishing that she had some other friends. She decides to "make conversation with herself," instead. "What would it be like, I wonder, to be a prisoner of war? I think that would really suck, especially if you're a girl. Who knows what they'd do to you!"

"Deatheaters… they're some evil sons-of-bitches. But I guess maybe not, because they all sold Voldemort out…" She looks pensive for a moment. "I suppose they're just cowards, then. Yeah, that makes sense. They're just cowards."

Suddenly, she begins to look anxious. She shuffles her feet, glancing out the window, and wrings her hands together. "Marcus… what if Marcus becomes a Deatheater? Oh, Marcus… No. Marcus would never do that. He's not stupid." She pauses. "Well, he's not _that_ stupid, anyway."

Alison really is a sad little girl. She must be if she talks to herself. At least, that's what her fellow students and the professors thought, at any rate.

* * *

They all arrive at Hogsmeade and 'go their separate ways.' Marcus and his 'crew' go to have a glass or two (or seven) of Butterbeer. Alison, left to her own devices, walks around aimlessly, stating aloud that she will "ruin that bloody Golden Boy Harry Potter" when she gets back to Hogwarts; if she remembers, that is. And Margaret and Oliver go to the sweets shop, Honeydukes. 

"Oh! Let's get some of this," squeals Margaret, throwing a bunch of candy into Oliver's arms. "Ooh and some of this! And these! And… ew! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I _hate_ those!"

"I agree— Wow! Look at all of the chocolate!" Oliver grabs at least six of each kind, trying to fit all of it his hands. They finally walk up to pay, splitting it even. They each end up paying about three Galleons each.

They walk out of the shop, spotting Marcus and his 'mates' (more like followers) looking in the window at the Quidditch brooms and such, like a group of kids. Alison, too, spots them, and tells them outright what she thinks.

"You all look like a bunch of sissy five-year-olds," Alison scoffs. "Look at you! Staring in the broom shop window, acting as though you can't buy any of it! The idea of it is just—you _can_ buy it, can't you?" Seeing ashamed faces, she screams "The lot of you are poor? The thought! Marcus, I—"

"I'm not poor," Marcus says indignantly. "I have enough money to buy you a bloody diamond ring!"

"What the hell, Flint? You didn't actually buy her one, did you? What, are you in love with her or something?" spits out a boy on his right.

"Fuck off, Montague. It was just a bloody example, for fuck's sake," Adrian Pucey hisses in Marcus's defense.

"Oh, both of you fuck off," Alison suddenly shouts. "You're the ones acting like poufs. I swear you all act like you're going to jump at each other at any moment. My precious Marcus is too good for you lot but he continuously runs off with you despite of it all. It's driving me mad."

She walks off, mumbling to herself. "Why any boy Marcus's age would want to hang out with a bunch of fairies instead of me, or any girl for that matter, is a mystery. Do you think he's gay? Fuck, I hope not."

"Shit, Alison really needs to get some other friends," says Oliver shaking his head. He leads Margaret over to sit on a bench and hurries off to get some drinks for them while they eat some of their chocolate.

Oliver came back and the Weasley twins came by, glancing at them with wide grins on their faces. "Oi," Fred or George began, "you—"

"—two finally—"

"—admitted you like—"

"—each other and—"

"—are going out now?"

"Um… n-… well, I guess you could say that…" Oliver was blushing so much he could barely get the words out. Margaret was speechless, also blushing.

The twins shake their heads, and run off to Zonko's Joke Shop to "meet up—with Lee, of course—who else?" Oliver and Margaret slowly get over their discomfort and begin laughing.

"It must be weird, don't you think?" giggles Margaret. "Me and you are… well, we are going out, right?" Oliver nods and Margaret continues. "We're going out but Alison and Marcus aren't. They're getting farther apart, if anything. You saw them, didn't you? They were practically going at each other's throats!"

"I wouldn't say that. Thornewell wasn't really talking to Flint," Oliver points out. "She was talking to his friends. The main thing isn't that they're "drifting apart." Flint is too defensive; he's too stubborn. He'll never admit he likes her, even though most people can tell, anyway. And Thornewell is… well, she acts fucking daft. She acts as though she doesn't know that he's in love with her."

"She doesn't realize it, you know. I've told her thousands of times. And he acts… you can just tell, damn it. I mean, Lee Jordan doesn't go around worrying that she's hurt in the hospital wing. Flint does. That must count that he at least cares about her, right? So why can't she see that he… fuck, how can she not see he loves her?"

"…you think she's a bloody idiot, don't you? Of course you do. It's a wonder she ended up in Ravenclaw at all, you know. Fucking hell, she should be in Slytherin. Everyone knows it. She's like the fucking spawn of Satan; or worse, You-Know-Who."

"Oliver, don't you darebad-mouth Alison! She is _not_ the spawn of Satan or Vol— You-Know-Who. And if you say that about her again, I don't care if you're brilliant or if you're bloody gorgeous—"

"What?" sputters Oliver blushing, but swelling with pride all the same. Margaret realizes what she said, and she, too, blushes ridiculously, trying to stutter out that she didn't mean what she said. "Oh, piss off. You think I'm gorgeous, you just said so yourself."

He smirks and Margaret blushes even more. "I didn't," she declares softly, as she and Oliver edge closer. "I didn't…"

"You stupid bloody Weasleys! All of you are nothing but trouble! And you, Lee Jordan, are the scum of the wizarding world! One day, you will all suffer the horrible consequences of karma!" Alison really did need to stop screaming and interrupting everything. It really was quite annoying.

"I swear, Ali—Thornewell, you really need to stop shouting at the poor little Gryffindor scum. Even they don't deserve to hear you yelling in their ear every second of the day, you know. It really is indecent of you." Marcus's voice is reeking with mirth. "I swear one day you're going to lose your voice and you won't be able to talk anymore."

You can hear the smile in Alison's voice as she says, "Oh, no, Marcus, you know I'd never let that happen. After all, I wouldn't be able to cheer you on at Quidditch or anything anymore, would I? Besides, everyone would miss my voice and you know it. It might be annoying sometimes, but it sounds quite nice most of the time, doesn't it?"

"You are so full of yourself," Montague buts in. "Your voice is always annoying, you bloody prat." Bad move. You could actually _hear_ Alison punch him, and all the way to Hogwarts, too.

"I almost feel sorry for the boy. He's only a third year, after all," says Oliver, shaking his head, trying to get rid of the discomfort he feels.

"No way," Margaret states. "He must be daft. He ought to know that Alison will knock anybody flat. And if she won't, Flint sure as hell will. He's just stupid. He's not worth pitying, if he's even worth anything at all."

"Well, when you put it that way…" Oliver agrees. "You sound like a genius, you know. I think you ought to have been the one put in Ravenclaw. You're the smart one out of you two, not Thornewell."

"No, I don't think so. I'm not doing nearly as well as Alison is in any of my classes and she has most of her classes with the sixth years… I'm only smarter than Alison when it comes to things like common sense. She doesn't have much common sense. That's what she says, anyway."

"Thornewell isn't full of herself. She sounds like she bloody hates herself, if anything."

"Oh, that's not it at all, though. She's really not stupid or full of herself. And she can't hate herself. If anything at all, she's just weird. You see, sometimes she thinks she's the only one intelligent enough for her to talk to."

"Yeah, she's weird all right. She's bloody…" He shakes his head, amazed. "Fuck."

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters. They are the property of J.K. Rowling. I am in no way profiting from this except for the development of writing techniques and the sick fascination I get when I write this. 

**A/N:** Alright! Another chapter up and no one forced me to write it this time! I think I'm really getting in to this now. Yeah, that must be it. But I swear, if anyone gets mad at me for the way I'm writing this, I'll go mad. I'm almost exactly like Alison, you know. Especially in one point: I'm incredibly opinionated and extremely biased.

**About the Story:** If there is any slang or anything that you do not understand, you can send an me email or tell me about it in your review. (hint hint)


	5. Chapter Four: Hooky?

**Chapter Four: Hooky?**

**A.K.A. Alison's "New Look"**

"I can't believe you ditched me for Oliver Wood! It was bad enough Marcus abandoned for those bloody half-wits he calls friends, but then you deserted me too!" shouts Alison the next morning in the Great Hall.

"I know. I'm sorry. But today I'll make it up to you! We're gonna skip class and go do something fun!" Margaret cheers quietly.

"Like what? What can we do inside Hogwarts that's any fun?" Alison glances around quickly. "Um, we're not gonna get in trouble for this, are we?"

"Look, you can pretend to be sick, ok? I'll just say I took care of you. Hell, I am your best friend. I have nothing better to do than look after you, now do I?" Margaret winks playfully. "Besides, you get sick all the time so everyone will believe you. And, anyway, you lie all the time about being sick and getting hurt so I don't see—"

"Oh, no, don't go accusing me of lying all the time! I only lied a few times to get out of Flying Lessons… and History of Magic… and that one time in Herbology… ok, I see your point… but this is Potions! And I _never_ miss Potions unless it's serious, you know that!"

"That's exactly why he'll believe you. And, since this seems to make you even more upset, we won't even take the whole day off. We'll leave now, have some fun and come in a little late to Potions, alright? I might get in trouble for an "unexcused tardy" again, but that's just Snape, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Alison says hesitantly. Margaret stands up and starts leading her away. "Where are we going? What are you going to do to me?"

"You'll see. Don't look so scared; it's not gonna hurt." Margaret smiles comfortingly, but it only makes Alison even more nervous. "It's not like I'm gonna take out your eyeballs or something. Look, if everything turns out right—which it will—you and me will have a nice time and you'll have a surprise for everyone in Potions! And in the school, too, I guess. And, if we're really lucky, Flint will like it! How's that sound?"

"Marcus? Well, um…"

"It's Flint for fuck's sake, Alison. Come on!"

"Ok, ok, but if something goes wrong—"

"It won't! Oh, I've been dying to see you like this forever! Oh, you'll look so cute! I can't wait!" Margaret starts dragging Alison toward the Hufflepuff dormitories.

"…now I'm really scared," Alison mumbles. She is very worried; Margaret doesn't usually drag her around, especially not in the middle of the morning saying things about Alison's (soon to be cuter) cuteness.

* * *

"What—?" Alison stares as she walks into the dorm. Margaret had enchanted one side of it into some sort of hair solon and Alison is now very, very scared. Margaret never seemed fond of anything defined as "girly" and doing hair was definitely girlish.

"Sit, Alison; _sit down_ in the bloody chair! Take off your glasses. Glasses _off_! Ok, now… gotta get this stupid thing around you… there! Alright…" Margaret pulls a pair of scissors from out the vanity-cabinet in front of her. They clink together as she opens and closes them. "Hold still… if you're scared, don't look."

Alison closes her eyes tightly as Margaret cuts off snippets of her hair. "Please don't make it look stupid. What is it supposed to look like anyway?" The scissors are too close to Alison's ears for her to be comfortable. "Oi, watch me ear, eh?"

"I don't know what it's supposed to look like; I'm going by a feeling."—Alison stiffens—"I'm only joking, love. It's gonna be kind of short; it'll stop a little ways above your shoulders, but not too much. I figure, since your hair is so thick and curly, it'll look really nice and… almost done."

"Can I have a look, then?"

"If you'd open your eyes you could."

"Fuck off. It doesn't look too bad. Not so far, anyway. Is this all of it?" she asks.

"If this were all we'd be on time! Before you ask: no, I will not tell you what else. You wouldn't let me if you knew what I was gonna do."

Alison gulps nervously and tries not to scream. "It must be pretty bad then. You sure it's not gonna hurt?"

"No, for the hundredth time, it will not hurt. Stop moving. Alright, now… stay still. I hope this looks good…"

Alison felt something running across the bottom of her eyes. "What the hell are you doing to me? That… stop that! Eck…"

"Stay still! There. Now…" Margaret's hand rustled around in a bag. "Don't blink," she says, sliding something along the top of Alison's eyelids. "Don't…"

"You're giving me a make-over! Get me out! Get me out! Ah!" Alison was suddenly thrashing wildly.

"Calm down. You're lucky that I'm already finished. Open your eyes." Margaret swirls Alison around in the chair for a second until she is again facing a mirror.

"Um… I look weird." Alison tilts her head to the side, studying her face critically. She pulls at her hair and mashes her face up and down. "Definitely look weird. I thought you weren't in to all this stuff," Alison contemplates, glancing up at Margaret.

"I'm not. It's my sister's. Remember how many times she tried to do your hair and all that stuff? Well, I forced her little Gryffindor arse to let me borrow some of her stuff because I wanted to see what you'd look like…" Upon seeing Alison trying to scrub it off, Margaret says "Please don't, Alison. You look nice, I swear!"

Alison sticks her tongue out and stops rubbing at her face. "It's not even coming off anyway!" she shouts. "Fucking hell! You put lipstick on me!"

"Will you shut up? This is supposed to make you feel better, remember? Hurry up and put your glasses on. We're gonna be late."

"You mean… we didn't miss Potions?"

"Not yet. Come on." Margaret rushes down the hall with Alison trailing after her. "With your struggling I couldn't even get half of it done! But I guess it's better this way. Now no one will ask why a sick girl is wearing make up. Hurry up!"

* * *

Margaret ran to her seat in the back just before Professor Snape comes in. As he swishes through the door, he stares at Alison, quirking his eyebrow at her. Shaking his head, he drawls, "And why, may I ask, are you late Miss Thornewell?"

"Sorry, Professor," Alison says shyly, looking down. "The staircases switched on me, sir, and I got stuck."

"Next time, Thornewell, try to do something so you won't be late to my class. We all know you're smart enough. Now sit down."

"Yes, Professor, sorry," Alison chokes out. She turns around, trying to ignore the stares from her classmates, and makes her way toward Margaret.

"Not _there_, Thornewell; sit in your proper seat."

"But, Professor—"

"_Now!_" he hisses. Alison shrinks away, frightened, and, suddenly happier than ever, bounds over toward Marcus. She slowly slides into her seat, folds her hands together across the table and gazes expectantly at Professor Snape.

"Today we will be discussing…"

Professor Snape's voice fades out as Marcus starts whispering to Alison. "What happened to your hair?"

"…Margaret cut it…"

"Did she… do that,"_—_he indicated her make-up—"too?" Alison nods slowly, trying to pay attention to the Professor. "What was she—? You look weird."

"…I know…"

"… but it looks kind of… nice, I guess."

"…you're crazy. This make-up is fucking stupid. It looks queer. The hair's kind of wicked, though, isn't it?"

"Miss Thornewell!" Snape booms.

"Yes, Professor Snape?"

"Would you like to share what you and Mr. Flint were talking about with the rest of the class?"

"Well, not really, sir." Snape frowns at Alison and asks her a question that even she doesn't understand; something to do with ingredients for a potion. "Um… is it a love potion, sir?" Alison asks hopefully.

"Yes, Miss Thornewell. No points to Ravenclaw. See me after class for being an incessant chatter-box. Now, can anyone else tell me…?"

The lesson drones on and on, with nothing but lectures and not a single cauldron bubbling or potion brewing. At the end of class everyone files out quickly. Alison slowly collects her books, silently hoping Margaret will wait for her; Snape could be a child molester for all she knows. She makes her way up to his desk timidly, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.

"Miss Thornewell," he drones, moving around the desk. He folds his arms dauntingly across his chest and merely stares at her until she starts stuttering out an apology. "Quiet child, I have something to ask you."

Alison awaits the consequences and takes a deep breath. "Calm down, Miss Thornewell, I should think you would like what I'm going to ask of you. You have the best marks in my class and in most of your other classes. The Headmaster has requested that I ask if you'd be interested in tutoring students…"

"Professor, I can't. I'm no good at teaching, you see—"

"Mr. Flint needs a tutor if he's to pass his classes."

Alison stares at him. 'What's he up to?' she wonders. "Professor, I'm telling you, I can't teach people to save my life."

"Not even Mr. Flint?"

"Not even Marcus, sir."

"But there's no one else to help him."

"I'm confident he can pass, sir."

"You _will_ tutor him, do you understand me?"

Alison's eyes widen in shock. "I can try sir," she murmurs, frightened, "but I can't promise it'll help him any."

"That's a good girl. Now, Miss Thornewell, you will tutor him for one month. We'll check up on his improvement and, depending on his results, you will continue the tutoring or you won't. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor Snape."

"You may go."

Alison skids out of the classroom, literally running into Margaret around the corner. "He sure can be one scary old brute, can't he?" Margaret sympathizes.

"Yeah… he wants me to tutor Marcus. He was going crazy about it. His eyes were practically popping out of his skull! He actually forced me to say I would tutor him. I was scared to death, I swear! Oh… hi Marcus."

* * *

"I don't know, Margaret," Oliver mutters impatiently. "Maybe she doesn't like him anymore."

"Oliver, did you really just say that?" Margaret asks incredulously. 'Maybe she doesn't like him anymore.' You really don't know Alison at all do you? Of course she still likes him, you daft arse! She was just embarrassed! The reason I told you about that was to ask if you knew why Snape was acting so weird."

"I don't know. He's probably got something stuck up his arse."

"You're no help!" she screams, stalking off.

"Wait! What's with you? Why are Thornewell and Flint continuously the main focus of your world? I'm sure Thornewell doesn't even think about you."

"What do you know? You don't know anything about her and I am tired of you talking about her as though you grew up with her! Fuck off!" Margaret runs off extremely irritated with Oliver.

"They haven't even together for a month and she already wants to break up with him," mutters Alison walking past Oliver in the corridor. "The poor sod."

* * *

****

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Harry Potter characters. They are all property of J.K. Rowling, the lucky sod. I am in no way profiting from the creation of this story. So you can't sue me! Hah!

**A/N:** It only took me about two days to do this one and almost no one has been reviewing! (Special thanks from me to those of you _have_ been reviewing!) I swear, I must be _really_ dedicated to this story…


	6. Chapter Five: Progress

**Chapter Five: Progress**

**A.K.A. Finally!**

"No! Marcus, are you stupid? This is first year stuff! How did you pass?" Alison yells in exasperation, staring at Marcus as though he's grown another head. "Ok, look, it's simple. Wingardium Leviosa! Swish and flick! Now, have a go at it."

Marcus cleared his throat and held up his wand. "Wiingardrioom Leevioosaaah!"

"No! Look, you hold your hand out like _this_! And you say 'Wingardium Leviosa' not 'Wiingardrioom Leevioosaaah'! Ok? Try it again."

"Wingardriom Leviiosah!"

"Ok, let's forget that. Potions! You're not failing Potions are you?" Marcus shakes his head. "Ok, so, Transfiguration, then?" She looks down at a book in front of her. "Let's start with the basics. Prepare; one, two, three, Fera Verto!"

"One, two, three… Ferrah Vertoh!"

"Damn it, Marcus!"

"…one, two, three; Ferah Verto!"

"That's better; once more."

"One, two, three; Fera Verto!"

"Way to go, Marcus! We're making progress! Now try it on my owl, there. But don't fucking hurt 'im, you hear? And one, two, three…"

"Fera Verto!" Alison's owl suddenly became a golden goblet. "Hey! I did it!"

"Right. Now, turn 'im back… oh, for fuck's sake." Alison rolls her eyes, returning her owl to normal. "Please tell me the only classes you're failing are Transfiguration and Charms."

"That and History of Magic."

"That's understandable. All I can say about that is: try to stay awake and pay attention, you twat. Well, look at that, we're out of time. I guess we'll just have to work on some more tomorrow, then. Remember to practice or I'll take a swing at you, is that understood?" She walks off, leaving Marcus to sit there bewildered.

"No," he mumbles, "come back, damn it."

But she does not hear and continues out into the corridor. "Bloody hell," she mutters, "this is gonna be harder than I thought. He better improve or I'll go mad! I can't stand this for more than another week! Thank Merlin it's almost over!"

"Oi, Alison," calls Margaret coming up behind her, "how goes the tutoring?"

"I can't believe he's that stupid! He barely knows anything! I'm surprised he passed his first year. I'm surprised he made it into Hogwarts at all!"

"I think he's doing it on purpose."

"Why do you say that?"

"I think he's playing stupid because he wants to spend more time with you. You should go ahead and ask him out!"

"Fuck off!" shouts Alison. "How goes things with you and Ollie-boy, eh? You still going at 'is throat?"

"Nah. He's not being such a twat anymore. He's stopped calling you names."

"He's been calling me names? Like what?"

"Let's see now… he's called you: Anti-Christ, Spawn of Satan, Spawn of Voldemort, Evil Death Child, Satan Worshipper, Voldemort Worshipper, Demon Child… and he also referred to you as 'Snape's Precious Little Lover.'"

Alison laughs at the last one, choking out "Yeah right! He wishes!"

"Actually, I think Snape wants you and Flint to get together. Flint and I both heard him forcing you to say you'd tutor him. Snape's mental, he is."

"Oh, I suppose—"

"It's a scheme, I tell you! Flint must have asked Snape to ask you to tutor him! And he's faking it! He's not _that _stupid!"

"I guess…"

"I mean, he has to be somewhat intelligent to play Quidditch! Otherwise, he'd have been banned."

"Speaking of Quidditch," interrupts Alison, trying to distract her, "do you remember the first Slytherin Quidditch game we saw?"

"How could I forget that? Flint was beating the shit out of everybody on the field, even his own team!" Margaret shouts. "You were so excited you started running toward him and fell all over yourself trying to get there. It was so funny. I mean, you, this tiny little first year, ran up to this big, tall, mean, ugly—sorry—second year and started telling him that he was wicked and brilliant. That must have been so creepy."

"And he's not stupid, I tell you," she continues, going back to her previous point. "He's faking it! He and Snape came up with this scheme for you two to finally get together, I know it!"

"…hi, Marcus," Alison says looking behind Margaret, grinning widely. Margaret turns around slowly and looks up into the snarling face of Marcus Flint.

* * *

The tutoring passed quickly then she would have thought and Alison had become very anxious to find out how Marcus was doing in his classes. The day he would be taking a test to see about his improvement had come. She stands outside Professor Snape's office, waiting impatiently for someone to finally open the door. The door finally swings open and she rushes in, disregarding Professor Snape's glare.

"So…?" She stares at them both. "So? How did he do? Is he passing? Are his grades even worse? Tell me something!"

"…he's improved," replies the Professor. "Let's hope he keeps his grades up. If not, I'm afraid he'll need some more tutoring. But for now…"

Alison nods and begins to leave, hearing Marcus follow closely behind. He suddenly grabs her arm and spins her around. "What?" she asks, staring at him as though he were a chicken with three feet.

"I wanted to ask…" He stares down at his feet, avoiding her eyes. She prods him to continue, trying to catch his gaze. He sighs, dreading everything, but tries to continue, anyway. "…if you…" He stops, rethinking it, and says "Thanks for helping me." Then he just begins walking away, hurriedly and avoidant.

Alison stares at Marcus's retreating back, utterly confused. She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the feeling that he is upset about something. Becoming herself again, she waves at his back, yelling, "Bye Marcus!" He turns around and gives a small smile, but continues on. He turns the corner and leaves her standing there, bewildered. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

That afternoon, Alison tells Margaret about Marcus's strange behavior. "He suddenly grabbed me arm and spun me around," she says, "and stuttered 'I wanted to ask… if you…' Then he just stands there and blurts out 'Thanks for helping me' and walks off leaving me there. And when I tried to say good-bye he just turned around and smiled, but he looked… ashamed. What the hell happened to him?"

"I think he's sad because he lied to you," Margaret replies. "You know, during the lessons and stuff."

"So you're still on about it all being crap, then?"

"…yeah. I really think he's just doing it so he can be with you more but he's too stubborn to tell you so. Just ask him out for fuck's sake."

"Fucking hell! Why? Why is it so fucking important that I ask him out?"

"I don't know…"

"So drop it!" she screams, turning everyone's attention toward her. She growls at them, killing them with her eyes. "Oh, fuck off will you?" With that, she stands and leaves the Great Hall.

Moments after Alison leaves, Margaret glances at Marcus and his 'friends' over at the Slytherin table. Adrian Pucey and Terrence Higgs seem to be urging Marcus to do something, but the other four were trying to convince him otherwise. After much consideration, Marcus jumps up and runs out of the Hall, presumably after Alison.

"Flint seems a little anxious to be with that girl, doesn't he?" says a voice from Margaret's side. "I've heard that he fancies her, you know."

Margaret is about to respond, when she realizes the kid wasn't talking to her. "Yeah, we know," replies one of his friends. "You tell us about it almost everyday. Are you obsessed with them, Roger?"

"Oh, fuck off, Cho. You know just as well as I do that Flint is gonna be real happy when he finds her in the corridor all alone…" Roger trails off, beginning to daydream. Cho backs away, disgusted.

* * *

"Don't be so upset." Oliver spoke lightly, approaching Alison cautiously. He was afraid she was crying. Of course, when she turned around, he knew he was wrong.

"Think I'd be crying, Ollie-boy?" she yells. "Come to cheer me up to win Margaret's affections, have you?"

He shakes his head slowly. "No, but I do hope to cheer you up." She glares at him, but he pays her no mind. "Flint is stubborn," he begins.

"So?" Alison retorts. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"…which means he won't admit when he fancies someone."

"What are you telling me this for?"

"Flint's in love with you, obviously!" he shouts. "Everyone has noticed it; everyone except you."

"Margaret already said that and I don't—"

"Listen! Marcus Flint is in love with you but he's too bloody stubborn to show it and you're too thick to realize it. Margaret has been trying to tell you and now, so am I!"

"So what do you think I should do about Marcus, then, Ollie-boy?"

"Ask him out," he states plainly.

"Margaret already said to do that, but I can't!"

"Well, I don't know what to tell you then. I mean, you've already showed him you like him…" He paused. "Maybe you ought to kiss him or something." Alison stares at him as though he's gone insane. "Well, it's like Quidditch, you know? If you have the right strategy, everything goes right and you win. But if you don't, you lose."

"Meaning…?"

"Be forward. Come out and say 'Marcus, I love you' and kiss him. He'll respond, trust me."

"How do you know?"

"He's a guy," Oliver says simply. "Now, if you don't do anything… well, that won't get you anywhere, will it? So, you have to do _something_. That way you can get Margaret—and me—off your back. And then we'll all be happy!"

"Yeah, I guess…" Alison isn't so sure about Oliver's idea. "So, just… as soon as I see him, run up and kiss him?" Oliver nods and Alison glares at him, suddenly running to the end of the hall.

Oliver turns around just in time to see Alison kissing a very dazed and confused Flint, who doesn't seem to mind all that much. Oliver makes a disgusted face and walks past them. "Told you so," he says casually.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** Everything belongs to J.K. Rowling and I am just borrowing it for a bit. I am in no way profiting from the creation of this story.

**A/N:** Again, no one was pushing me to write this. And, uh, as for the end there… It's Oliver's fault! You can't blame me, Green Kitty! (In case some of you don't know who Green Kitty is, she's my, uh, partner in FICC. She writes the other two stories we have, I write this one.)


	7. Chapter Six: Holidays

**Chapter Six: Holidays  
****  
****A.K.A. Progress Indeed But Still Not Quite There Yet**

Rumors were spreading about what happened between Alison and Marcus in the corridor that night. It was expected, of course; especially since they were spending even more time together than usual. For instance, tonight—Halloween night—Alison sits comfortably next to Marcus at the Slytherin table, while Margaret sits—completely forgotten by Alison—with Oliver at the Gryffindor table.

It is tradition to have a feast on Halloween with loads of candy and caramel apples and the lot. Alison is busy trying to bite into a caramel apple when Professor Quirrell bursts in through the door, screaming "Troll! Troll in the dungeon!" Everyone stares at him in complete silence. "Thought you ought to know," he finishes, fainting.

Suddenly, there is an astounding uproar in the Great Hall. Everyone is screaming and running about. Marcus grabs Alison about the waist, as though confirming she is next to him and not off somewhere in danger. Alison, however, finds this all very amusing; especially when Dumbledore starts making his wand spit out fireworks in order to silence everyone.

"Prefects lead your Houses back to the dormitories!" he yells. "Teachers, follow me to the dungeons."

The prefects begin leading their fellow house members back to their dormitories, each following a different path. The Ravenclaw prefect begins walking up the stairs, leading away from the Slytherins, but Alison doesn't budge.

"You ought to go back to your dormitory," Marcus murmurs softly, looking down at Alison. "There goes your prefect. You should follow him." Alison looks at him as though he's gone insane.

"Are you mad? Walter's a fucking wanker! I'm not following 'round after him while there's a troll strolling 'bout the school!" Alison pauses. "Walter's a creepy little bugger, he is. A pervert, if you ask me."

"According to you, everyone's a pervert," he jokes, smiling.

"Not everyone, Marcus. I don't think you're a pervert…"

"Oi, what are you doing here?" the Slytherin prefect suddenly yells at Alison. "You're not in Slytherin! Get back with your house or—"

Alison turns around slowly, a menacing scowl on her face. The prefect is a good three inches taller than her, but she still walks right up to him and spits in his face. "Fuck off."

The prefect walks away and they make their way toward the common room amongst the Slytherins, with Alison remarking "If the Slytherin dormitories are in the dungeons, why are they sending us down there? That's where the troll is, right? Oh, shit…"

"Calm down, Alison. It's not really a dungeon. It just sort of… seems like one. Besides, I can… um, what I mean is…"

"You're right, Marcus!" she squeals, brightening. "You'll protect me, of course. Now I feel stupid for forgetting." She smiles, linking her arm through Marcus's.

* * *

"Oi! Want to play wizard's chess, Marcus?" Alison calls once they arrive in the common room. "I've just found a board and—" 

"I hate wizard's chess," growls Marcus, sitting down on a couch by the fireplace. "Ask Pucey to play or something."

"I'd love to play," says a boy coming up behind Alison. "Besides, that_ is_ my board." He smiles what, she guesses, is supposed to be a charming smile; in Alison's opinion, smiling like that makes him look like a poof.

"And you are?" she asks rudely, glancing at the boy.

"Adrian Pucey," he replies, holding out his hand, presumably for her to shake. He stands there for a while, looking like an idiot, then finally realizes that she is not going to shake his hand. "Right…so, you want to play wizard's chess now?"

"Not really." She then ignores him, going to sit next to Marcus. "I bet you anything that Harry Potter and His Little Golden Followers are going after that troll. I expect they think they can handle it. I hope they get themselves killed."

"…why aren't you playing chess with Pucey?" Marcus asks. "I thought you wanted to play chess…"

"Nah," Alison says, stretching out to lie down beside Marcus. "I didn't really want to play wizard's chess, you know. Just wanted to something to do…" She pauses a second, moving so that her head is lying in his lap. "Marcus… Christmas is coming up soon."

He was dreading this. Of course, he thought, she was going to tell him that she wants some extravagant gift. Instead, she says "What do you want for Christmas?"

"I dunno," he replies, "Haven't really thought about it… what do you want?"

"Me? Well, it doesn't really matter… but nothing expensive. Just get me whatever you want to; whatever you think I would like."

"That sounds like a good idea. You do the same for me."

Alison nods, staring up at Marcus. She smiles, whispering sleepily "Night night, Marcus…" She promptly falls asleep, leaving Marcus to think about what he is going to get her for Christmas. He decides to talk to Margaret about it tomorrow, when he can think properly.

* * *

In the morning, Marcus awakens to find Alison still asleep on his lap and a room full of Slytherins staring at them. Marcus stares back at them uncertainly. Amongst the group, he spots Professor Snape, who looks quite pleased and extremely smug. 

Just then, Alison stirs. She stretches, yawns, and finally opens her eyes. "Morning, Marcus." She then notices that everyone is staring at them. "What the fuck are you looking at, eh? Well?"

The crowd exchanged glances then immediately dispersed, exiting the common room quickly. Professor Snape, however, remained where he was, smirking haughtily. "I see you two have finally come to your senses," he drones, turning to swish out of the common room.

"Well," Alison remarks, standing up. "I guess we ought to go eat breakfast. Today's a Hogsmeade day, after all." She turns and grabs Marcus by the hand, dragging him out of the room. "Come on, Marcus. If we don't hurry those stupid first years—you know, that nancy-boy Draco's body guards?—will eat everything."

Shortly thereafter, they arrive in the Great Hall. Alison prances over to the Slytherin table, sits down and shoves a boy out of his seat. Marcus strolls after her and sits down in the now empty seat. "You walk to slow, Marcus," she scolds playfully. "Margaret and I have decided to start Christmas shopping. It seems a bit early, but…"

"It's fine. I was thinking of doing the same thing." He stops, seeing her look rather nervous. "I'm well aware I can't tag along," he mumbles. "I don't want to, anyway…"

"Oh, of course…" She looks away, dismayed.

"…I have to shop for you, after all. I wouldn't want you to see your present. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go talk to Hillsworth about something." He gets up from the table and walks over to the Hufflepuff table and sits down beside Margaret, who looks at him as though he's grown a second head.

"Hullo," Margaret says snidely. "You left Alison all alone at the Slytherin table. There are some major perverts over there. You better have a good reason for this or—"

"Christmas" is all he says. She stares at him, confused. "I don't know what to get her," he continues. "What should I get her?"

"Well, it's Alison. That means anything girlish is out of the question. She has enough books…" She pauses, deep in thought. "Wait… a while ago she mentioned something that she wanted… what was it? Think, Margaret, think."

"I've just remembered," she whispers excitedly. "She wants a cloak. But not just any cloak will do; it has to be perfect. It has to be one she can wear casually, not like the stupid Hogwarts thing we all have. I suggest you look around today. Cloaks are very popular and you wouldn't want them to run out. Especially since there's basically nothing else that Alison wants… Ahem, yes, well, you better get back over there. She looks like she's about to kill someone."

Marcus nods, hurriedly dashing over to Alison. "Sorry 'bout that," he mumbles, sitting down again. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she says through clenched teeth.

"No, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Nothing… what were you talking to Margaret about?" She looks up at him, and, upon seeing his edginess, becomes worried and distraught. "What were you talking to her about? Marcus—"

"Calm down, Alison," he says gently, hugging her. "I was only telling her that I'm going to look for the perfect gift for you and asked her to keep you from seeing what it is."

Alison calms down slightly then glances up at him warily. "What's going on, Marcus? Is this some kind of joke? You're acting strange…"

"No, there's nothing wrong. Oh, but I did find out something that you might be interested to know." Alison becomes anxious. "Well, remember last night when you said that Potter and his friends were going to go after the troll? While I was talking to Margaret, I overheard—"

"Yes! I knew it! They went after the troll… did they die?"

"No… um, you see, it's like this…" He pauses. "The bucktoothed one apparently went after the troll, thinking she could handle it. That lost Gryffindor 5 points. But Potter and the poor one—the Weasley—saved her and gained 5 points each for "sheer dumb luck" as McGonagall put it… where are you going?"

"Just to see Harry Potter; I'll only be a moment." She continues to walk away when Marcus suddenly jumps up and grabs her hand. "What the hell?"

"Um… Potter looks a bit busy, and, um, don't you want to spend your time with me? I mean, um, we probably won't, um, see each other all day, and, um—"

"Marcus, are you sure there's nothing wrong? You're acting really weird."

"Nothing's wrong," he reassures her, leading her out of the Great Hall. "I just… well, I want to, um, spend this morning with you. Since we won't be leaving for a few more hours, I thought we could, um… I thought we could… play wizard's chess." That wasn't his original plan, but it could work.

"I thought you hated wizard's chess." Marcus shrugs and suddenly Alison pulls to a stop in the middle of the stairs. "Marcus, I don't have a chess board and I'm sure you don't, so how are we going to play?"

"Well, I didn't really want to play wizard's chess," he says, mimicking her remark from last night. "I just wanted something to do." She glares at him but soon begins to smile.

* * *

"There goes Marcus… better get out of here," Margaret mumbles to herself. She and Alison are now at Hogsmeade, trying to find Christmas gifts. "Come on, Alison. Let's look in the book store…" 

"Why do you want to go in there? Nobody but you and me reads books," she replies stubbornly. "We can't very well get gifts for each other today, can we?"

"Let's just go look, ok? We have other people to buy for besides Flint, like our families and I have to buy for Oliver and—"

"Ok, ok, I get it," she sighs, following Margaret into the book shop. "But… you do realize that Oliver is only going to want something to do with Quidditch or something to do with chocolate, right?"

"Yeah… I was thinking I'd get him a leather-bound copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_, a few broom cleaning kits, and a box or two of chocolate. You know, since brooms are really expensive."

Alison stares at Margaret, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Right… ahem, well… my parents probably won't want anything from here unless… um, never mind… so, I'm just gonna…" She begins slipping her way toward the door.

"Oh, no you don't!" Margaret screeches, pulling Alison back beside her. "You are gonna help me find _Quidditch Through the Ages_!"

Alison stares at Margaret, then rolls her eyes at her. "Well, this is the section for Kennilworthy Wisp so… it's the green book next to _Beating the Bludgers – A Study of Defense Strategies in Quidditch_." After a pause, she adds, "You might want to get him that one, too."

"Good idea!" she yells, grabbing leather copies of both. She then rushes to the front of the store.

"Leather-bound isn't such a good idea if you're getting him broom kits and chocolate, too," Alison says while Margaret pays for the books.

"Yeah, I guess I'll just get him one box of chocolate. But not now, it's too soon. I'll get it later when it's closer to Christmas. You know, so it won't go bad."

"Right," she groans. "Once we get next door, I'm getting my mum some new slippers and I think I'll get me dad some new robes…"

"Yeah," Margaret agrees, "my parents could do with some new robes, too. So, that just leaves…"

"…Marcus," Alison finishes, her eyes instinctively searching for him. Giving up, she sighs forlornly, rushing into the shop after Margaret. "I just don't know what to get him, Margaret. Ugh, it's annoying. I can come up with some crap present for everybody else, you know? Oh, bugger. I'll just skip him for now… I still have to plan something to get for you, after all."

"Yeah…" Margaret pauses in her search for a set of robes for her parents. 'That reminds me… I have to get something for her. But I told Flint to get her the only thing she wants… what am I gonna do?'

* * *

"Time seems to have flown by," Margaret says, sitting comfortably with Alison in front of The Giant Christmas Tree. "I mean, tomorrow's Christmas!" 

"Yeah," agrees Alison. "And all I want is for it to just go away. You got everyone nice presents; they're all gonna love you! But, me, I got everyone completely crap presents."

"They aren't that bad, Alison. I'm sure your parents will love their gifts. And I'm sure Flint will like his. After all, you—"

"Oh, come off it, Margaret. You know that I should've gotten him a broom. The best broom in the whole shop; a bloody Nimbus 2000! But no, I had to go and buy that book on potion making. And I didn't even need it! It's more of a research thing—" She stops in mid-sentence. "I have enough books. I _had_ enough books. I shouldn't have bought it."

"It's fine. Stop worrying so much. It's not a big deal. Anyway, I'm most concerned with the fact that you're both here for Christmas holidays. Last year, both of you went home and it's more than a little odd—"

"Marcus had this, erm, idea, see. He wants me and him to both be here for Christmas holidays so that we can thank each other…'properly,' he said. He wants us to meet here tomorrow morning and open presents together… alone." She smiles shyly, blushing.

Margaret notices that Alison only blushes when she mentions something Marcus said or did that was deemed "impractical"; which, of course, to Alison, meant romantic.

Alison suddenly jumps up, grabbing Margaret by the hand. "I've just remembered! I promised Marcus we'd meet him outside! Hurry up, or we'll be late!"

"Why'd you invite me?" Margaret fought back the urge to hit her. "You and Marcus could be all alone in the snow! That's completely romantic!"

"Not really. Oliver's coming, too. I wouldn't want him to get his arse kicked or think I was lying when I told him you were going to be there. Now, _come on_!"

Margaret finally gives in, allowing herself to be dragged to the end of the corridor and out the exit. "Ok, but I'm not going interrupt your little session tomorrow. There's no way you can make me."

"Shh!" Alison sneaks up behind Oliver and throws a snowball at his head. Marcus sits on a nearby bench, watching but not joining in. "Oh, come on, Marcus. It's fun!"

"Being hit with ice is not _fun_," he growls. Alison shrugs, walking over to the bench, but doesn't sit down. Instead, she flops down beside it on the snow. "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

"Making a snow angel," she says cheerfully from her place on the ground. She doesn't seem to care that she looks like an idiot, waving her arms and legs about in the snow. She stops, holding out her hands. "Give us a hand, Marcus. I can't very well make a perfect snow angel by myself; I'll get a hand print in it."

Marcus simply stares at her, confused. She growls at him, shifting about uneasily. She finally sits up, lies back down, then quickly propels her self up again. Fumbling about to stand up properly, she falters and lands face first in the snow. She spits and sputters, glaring up at Marcus, before pushing herself off the ground and shoving him off the bench.

"That's what you get for not helping her," Oliver laughs, continuing to bombard Margaret with snowballs. She throws a few back at him, then stops altogether.

"Well, I'm going to make a snowman," she says. "Anyone want to help?" Everyone, except Marcus, decides to help Margaret build a snowman.

"Come on, Marcus," Alison says, pulling him off the ground. She drags him over to a huge pile of snow and forces him to help her roll it into a ball. "You're going to have fun making a snowman whether you like it or not." Marcus finally complies and they spend the rest of the day in the snow.

* * *

"Alison! Get up! Alison! Come on!" Margaret shouts, shaking Alison awake. (Margaret was staying the Ravenclaw dormitories since most people were away for Christmas holidays.) "You've got to go meet Flint in the Great Hall! Go on!" Alison stumbles out of bed and staggers toward the door. "Wait, no! What are you doing? You've got to get dressed first, Alison!" 

"What are you talking about, Margaret? I _am_ dressed." Alison yawns sleepily, rubbing her eyes.

"Yeah, in your pajamas," Margaret scoffs.

"And what's all this about the Great Hall? What time is it?"

"It's noon, for fuck's sake! You've got to get down to the Great Hall and meet Flint! You two are supposed to open presents together or something. Remember?"

"I'm going, I'm going," she says, closing the curtain around her bed. "Don't open the curtain,"—she reaches out and grabs a pile of clothes on her trunk—"or I'll have to smack you. Now, what are you on about?"

"I just told you!" Margaret yells in frustration. "You and Flint are supposed to meet in the Great Hall and open presents together! Alone!"

"Well, that sounds impractical." Alison pulls the curtains open, revealing that she is fully dressed, except for shoes and socks. "Socks are ridiculous," she scoffs, pulling them on her feet. "If it weren't so cold I wouldn't be wearing them. Where are my shoes?"

She hops around on one foot, trying to get her socks on and look for her shoes at the same time. She searches all over the room, knocking Margaret over several times. "Aha! There they are!" She grabs them, plops down on her bed, and pulls them on her feet. "Now, where is my brush?"

A look of pure terror comes across Margaret's face and she hurriedly searches her trunk, which she brought from her dormitory, for a brush. "Just use mine," she says, practically shoving a brush in Alison's face.

* * *

Alison sighs, carrying a large bag into the Great Hall. "Stupid presents. It's a good thing I'm not dragging this. Mum and dad probably got me some big expensive, breakable thing." She spots Marcus sitting at the end of a table with a small bag next to him. She rushes over to him, squealing "Hi, Marcus!" 

"Hullo, Alison," he replies, staring at the large bag she's carrying. "I've already sent your gift; it should be in that bag of yours."

"Yeah, I saw it. I can't wait to see what it is," she says, smiling at him. "I'm pretty sure I sent your gift… I mean, I couldn't find it when I was packing everything in the bag and I was worried that I—"

"I have it, don't worry."

"Oh, right. So… do you want to, um, open presents now?" Marcus nods. "Well, um, do you want to open your presents first, or should I? Or should we take turns?"

"Um… I think we should save the ones we gave to each other for last. And we should take turns opening the ones from everyone else," he continues, ignoring the look on her face.

"Okay," she sighs, "but one of us is bound to have more gifts than the other. I guess who ever it is will just have to keep opening gifts when the other runs out. And then we'll open the gifts from each other."

Alison sets her bag down on the table, carefully emptying out the contents. She sets one gift aside; an emerald box with a silver ribbon on it. Marcus does the same, also setting aside one gift; a blue box with a black ribbon on it.

"Right, um, you better go first," Marcus says, gesturing toward her. "After all, you are the one with the most gifts."

Alison looks slightly ashamed, but grabs a small present and rips into it. She stares at it in disbelief, shouting "I can't believe this! They got me a Remembrall!"

Marcus chooses to ignore her, opening one of his own gifts. He glares at it, poking it with his finger. "What is it?"

"It looks like a stationary set. A Quidditch stationary set," Alison giggles. "It looks like we're both getting crap presents this year." She begins opening another gift. "A violin? I got a violin?"

She grabs it and jumps up, dancing about the Great Hall attempting to play it. Marcus makes a face; it sounds awful. She smiles sheepishly, saying "Sorry, I was hoping I could play without lessons. We can't afford the lessons."

"You ought to enchant it to play itself for you," he says opening another gift, a broomstick cleaning kit.

"I don't want it to play for me, I want to play it myself!" she screams, opening up yet another gift, a wooden flute. Marcus looks at it quizzically. "Metal flutes are crap," she explains. Ignoring Marcus's expression, she plays it; this time, not sounding so bad. "Oh, look, a note. 'We got this just in case you suck at playing the violin.' Oh, thanks."

Marcus looks at the gifts he has left; five, including the one from Alison. She, on the other hand, has eight left, including his. "Right," he says, tearing into the wrapping on his next gift. "Why would they think I want a set of dress robes? What am I supposed to do with it? I can't very well wear it; it's blue!"

"I think it brings out the blue tint in your eyes," she says dreamily. "Maybe you could wear it to a family get together or something?" She glances down at her next gift, ripping off the paper. "More books? And a gift certificate to Flourish and Blotts? I thought I told mum that I have enough books. I practically have an entire library myself, not that we don't have another one right down the hall. I swear…"

Marcus's eye twitches faintly, but he opens his next gift, anyway. It's a gift certificate to the Potions store in Diagon Alley, The Apotheracy. Two more left before he gets to Alison's gift. Alison stares in jealousy and Marcus wonders why; she probably has one somewhere in that stack of gifts of hers.

She scoffs, shredding through the paper of her next gift. Six left before she gets to the one from Marcus. She sighs sadly as though something tragic happened. "It's parchment," she says, as though he were blind, "and quills and ink and that. I want to be a journalist, you know. I have my own newspaper."

"I know," he replies, opening another present. Just one more left until he gets to open the one from Alison. "I read it."

"Oh. Well, anyway, I would want to a regular author, but I can't very well right fantasy books, can I? I mean, we basically live in what Muggles call a fantasy and not many people want to read about normal stuff that they go through everyday."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Marcus watches Alison tear open a box, revealing stacks of different color robes. She doesn't hide her disappointment. "I told them I didn't want clothes!" She looks at the pile next to her, spotting a box that looks exactly the same as the one she just opened. "That one's probably clothes, too. Muggle clothes, I bet." She opens it and sees that she's right; it is Muggle clothes.

Alison opens two more gifts, Marcus only opens one more. He was right, Alison got a box full of gift certificates; one of them was for The Apotheracy. She also got a large box of candy, which she offered to share with, or rather give to, Marcus; she said it was because his last gift was only stiff homemade fudge, which didn't look very good.

"Me mum's not a very good cook," he explains. "Aren't you going to open your last gift?"

"Oh, yeah… it's from Margaret." She rips open the box and pulls out a silver necklace and a ticket. "A necklace with a dragon holding a green orb and a ticket to see The Weird Sisters live in concert?" she gasps. "That's what I got Margaret; except the orb was blue…"

"Well," Marcus says, not really caring all that much. "Now, let's open up the gifts from each other, shall we? I'll go first."

"Um, Marcus," Alison begins, but is cut off by him taking off the lid to the box. She closes her eyes and turns away, preparing for the worst.

Marcus stares in shock, before bursting into a fit of laughter. "This is great," he chuckles, picking up the gifts out of the box. "A 'Torture Your Teacher Kit' from Zonko's and a chess set for,"—he pauses, reading from the note that was attached—"um, 'for when we just want something to do.' This is great."

She slowly begins to smile widely. "I thought you wouldn't like it," she admits. "I was so mad at myself for buying this book on potion making, you see, and—"

"Just open your gift," he snaps, grinning at her. "And you better like it, too. I spent six hours in the shop looking for the perfect one and even put up with some poof making passes at me. He thought I was shopping for me."

"But," he continues, "I told him flat out 'I'm not looking at the girly ones for me! I'm looking for Alison!' Then he asked me if you were my sister and I said 'No, Alison is not my sister. She's my girlfriend, now piss off' and he backed off after that. I thought it was—what's wrong?"

"N-nothing," Alison stutters, blushing. She smiles shyly, slowly lifting the lid, and opens the paper, revealing what seems to be a large velvet green square. Her eyes widen in amazement, and then she lifts it out, unfolding it. She squeals excitedly, practically jumping across the table at Marcus. She lands in his lap and begins hugging him.

"So you like it then?" He smirks, hugging her back. Suddenly, he starts sputtering and coughing. "Fuck, Alison, you're choking me. Could you let go, now, eh?"

"Sorry," Alison says, letting go of him. She scoots over so that she is no longer sitting on him, but beside him instead. She feels as though she ought to kiss him, but decides not to; Margaret and Oliver are peaking in through the door, watching.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own, so you can't sue. 

**A/N:** Heh, well, sorry for the wait. But this one is really long. And, um…I kind of lost a bit of it at one point. Anyway, the next chapter will be the last of Precious Potter's first year. I can't wait until after that chapter. I have been dying to write stuff about the second book/movie! Also, I would like to note that some things are from the book, some things are from the movie, and some things are from neither; thus making this a fanfiction. By the way, I changed it so that you can review anonymously, so please, review!


	8. Chapter Seven: School's End

**Chapter Seven: School's End**

**A.K.A. No More Potter! For Now, Anyway**

Alison had been trying to ignore Harry Potter and His Follower's sneaking around in the library to research Nicolas Flamel. Of course, it was none of her business and there was no way she was going to tell them what she knew about Nicolas Flamel, anyway. She came to the conclusion that when that horrible little beaver-girl finally stopped studying and helped them, they would finally figure out who he was and would stop hogging all the good books trying to look for him.

"I wonder why they need to know about him, anyway," comments Margaret, who is sitting across from Alison in the library. Both girls are watching them attempting to sneak into the Restricted Section.

"They're just being nosy, as usual," scoffs Alison. "Trying to find something to run off and save; or steal. Oi, Madame Pince is gonna smack 'em with her feather duster if they don't go. Did you know she back-handed that pansy Draco Malfoy last month? That was a laugh. You should've—" She stopped, grabbing a camera from seemingly out of nowhere and snapping a picture just in time. "I told you."

"What'd you take a picture for?" calls Oliver, walking up behind them. "Trying to black-mail, Harry? Is that it?" He wraps his arms around Margaret, who blushes ridiculously.

"No, Oliver, not black-mail. I'm going to use it for my newspaper." Alison rolls her eyes, glaring at him. "Honestly, don't you know I have one?"

"Yes," Oliver replies, "but I don't read it. After all, it never has anything to do with Quidditch. Well, unless it's bad-mouthing the teams or raving about how Flint's wonderful or something. I'm really surprised they haven't banned it."

"I know, I know," says Alison. "That's what everyone says, even the teachers. 'I'm surprised it's not banned. It's incredibly biased.' But, apparently Professor Dumbledore loves it, so…" She shrugs, throwing on the green velvet cloak Marcus got her for Christmas. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to, erm, leave you two alone."

"I just hope they realize that the library is not the best place to make out," she mumbles as exits the library, laughing softly to herself.

* * *

Alison quickly runs outside spinning around in the snow. There are only a few weeks left until it all melts away, maybe even less time than that and she doesn't want to waste them inside when she could be playing in the snow.

She tumbles to the ground, rolling about in the snow. She stops, making another snow angel. This time, she jumps up immediately, not caring if she falls or ruins the snow angel, just enjoying the feeling of being in the snow. Thus, she ends up doing both; unintentionally, of course.

Alison lies there in the snow for a few moments, before jumping up. She suddenly began throwing snowballs at random people and trees and things: that Slytherin arse, Montague; a group of Hufflepuff first years; Walter the Perverted Prefect; Percival Weasley and his girlfriend, who's from Ravenclaw; the Whomping Willow; and Professor Snape.

"Fuck! Sorry, Professor Snape, I didn't see you there, I swear. If I'd have known you were there I'd have thrown it somewhere else. I really didn't—bloody hell!" she shrieks, getting hit with a snow ball and falling backward rapidly. She looks up to see Snape smirking at her.

"Next time, Miss Thornewell," he drones silkily, "you should watch who you're aiming at. They might retaliate." Before Alison can think of a response, he continues "You have detention for that mouth of yours."

"Tonight, sir?"

"No, Miss Thornewell, you seem awfully busy," he replies snidely. "Two weeks from Thursday at four in my classroom, as usual."

With that, he walks away, leaving Alison alone to hit herself. "Stupid, stupid! Now I'm going to be stuck alone with him in the bloody dungeons for detention! Just great! The more time I have to spend in detention with him—no matter if I get to help him prepare potions and ingredients and grade the first year's papers—the creepier he seems," she whines, rushing off to tell Margaret.

* * *

"Detention again!" whimpers Alison, making her way toward Snape's classroom. She had been trying to get out of detention all last week, but no luck. She soon passes by the library, spotting Draco Malfoy cursing some poor little kid. "Oi, Draco! What do you think you're doing, eh? Mind you, I've put curses on loads of people, but for good reason! You can't go around cursing people who haven't done anything to you! Now, fuck off!"

The blond Slytherin glares at her, stalking off, followed by his lackeys. The little first year—a Gryffindor, it seems—looks up at Alison, surprised. She smiles down at him, ruffling his brown hair. "I don't usually help Little Gryffindor First Years," she says, "but I'll make an exception this time. Shit, you're one adorable kid. Heh, I guess I shouldn't be cussing in front of you, huh? So, what's your name, kid?"

"N-Neville," he stutters. "Neville Longbottom. Who are you?"

"I'm Alison Thornewell, fifth year Ravenclaw and Marcus Flint stalker. I'm joking, I'm his girlfriend." She blushes at her comment then looks ruefully at Neville. "Neville, I don't remember the counter-curse, but I _can_ help you get back to your common room."

Neville blinks repeatedly, utterly shocked and confused. "What? Has no one ever helped you before?" exclaims Alison, performing a levitation spell on him. He shakes his head from his place in the air, and she mutters about the indecency of people nowadays.

Neville becomes frantic as he floats up a staircase. "Calm down, we're almost there. I can't help you inside, though. I have to run off to the kitchens to grab something to eat. I have detention with Professor Snape in half an hour." His eyes become wide at the mention of Snape and he starts shaking. "You're afraid of him? You really shouldn't be, although he is a bit creepy."

"Ah, here we are, Neville," Alison says, lowering Neville to the floor in front the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. "Too bad I don't remember the counter-curse, really. It would've been loads easier. But don't you worry, I'll end up cursing Draco the Nancy-Boy soon, anyway, so you can just think of it as revenge for you, alright? See you."

"Y-yeah," Neville squeaks from behind her, "s-see you."

Alison rushes off down the corridor, sliding around the corner. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Gonna be late, gonna be late, gonna be late. Kitchen, kitchen, gotta find the kitchen, gotta find the kitchen. Picture of fruit; fruit, fruit, fruit, tickle the pear." She screeches to halt, skidding across the floor and into a wall. "Shit! Stupid wall!" she yells, smashing her fist against the 'wall.'

"Fuck! That hurt, Alison," the 'wall' says. "I head to the kitchen for an early snack and you hit me! What the hell was that about?"

Alison slowly looks up at Marcus, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry, Marcus," she says, tickling the pear in the portrait. "I'm running late for detention with Snape."

"What? Again?" he asks incredulously. "Didn't you have detention with Snape two weeks ago? What'd you do this time?"

"Yeah, don't remind me. Anyway, I accidentally hit him with a snow ball last week. I'm gonna be so late because I saved Neville from Draco. Well, actually, I didn't. He'd already cursed him, but I did help Neville back to his dormitories since I didn't remember the counter-curse and—"

"Who's Neville?"

"He's a Little Gryffindor First Year. He's really adorable. Has an atrocious last name though," she explains, grabbing a sandwich and an apple off a plate held by one of the house elves. "Thanks. Anyway, I've got to go before—"

"I have just noticed," Marcus says arrogantly, "that you're wearing the cloak I got you for Christmas."

"Yep, I've been wearing all month. I hope it doesn't ruin when it's wet. Oh, well. I'll still wear it anyway. See you, Marcus! I'm gonna be late!" With that, she runs off down the corridor.

Soon, Marcus hears a bang, followed by a long string of curse words from Alison. "I can't believe it," he sighs, "she fell down the stairs again."

* * *

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," Alison gasps, rushing into the room. "I was running to get here at three when I stopped to rescue Neville Longbottom—although I didn't really save him, just helped back to his common room. Then I went to the kitchens to grab some food since I know I'm gonna miss dinner again and on my way down here I fell all the way down the stairs and ended up in the wrong spot so I had to go back—"

"That's enough, Miss Thornewell," Snape drawls, folding his hands across his desk at the front of the room. "I need you to help me prepare some… ingredients for the first year's final; that's too weeks from now, just like yours. Don't bother asking about the final, Miss Thornewell."

"That's right," Alison says, smirking. "Teachers aren't supposed to reveal 'secrets' about their finals. But that doesn't matter, right? Your finals are always the same; a normal written exam, just like every other class. And after that, we have to make a potion, but with one small detail; we don't have any instructions, we have to make it strictly from memory. I'm usually the only one to pass that portion, right, Professor?"

"Quiet, you're supposed to be serving detention, not having a bloody conversation with your Potions Master—"

"—who is my favorite teacher—"

"Stop sucking up. This is ridiculous! Come here!" Alison backs away, staring at him oddly. "Come here, Miss Thornewell. Now," he hisses, glaring at her with his cold black eyes. She squeaks in alarm, rushing over to him. She skids to a stop in front of his desk and doesn't move an inch.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Are you afraid of your favorite teacher?" Snape asks snidely as she glares at him, wanting to yell "no" but staying quiet. "Sit down there, Miss Thornewell. See that jar of wolfsbane? I need you to…"

And Snape drones on and on with things that he wants Alison to do. It's the same as every other detention she has with him. That is, until he says "That's a nice cloak, by the way. It's not my color, of course, but it looks good on you."

* * *

"And so he says 'That's a nice cloak. Not my color, but it looks good on you.' And I'm stuck there for another half hour, worrying about what he meant by that," rants Alison for the fifteenth time this week. Her detention was more than a week ago, so she should've been over it by now, but she wasn't.

"Obviously he meant he thought you looked good in your cloak," Oliver chuckles. "It must suck to have Snape come on to you."

"It's alright, Alison," Margaret says comfortingly, "I'm sure he wasn't coming on to you, or anything. He can't be some creepy old child molester who's going to rape you. I mean, I know he's creepy but—"

"Gross!" yells Oliver. "I did not want that picture in my head! That's completely disgusting! Margaret, did you have to say that out loud?"

"Oh, shut up, Oliver!" snaps Alison, glaring viciously at him.

"Quiet, Alison, calm down. Flint! Aren't you going to comfort her?" Margaret looks expectantly at Marcus, who is leaning against the wall, having not said a word.

"Fine," he grumbles. "Snape was probably mentioning it because he knows I bought it for you. I mean, you scream really loud Alison. He probably heard one of the times you thanked me for buying you 'the best cloak ever'; you know, since you thank me about twenty times a day. Even though Margaret was the one who told me you wanted one."

"Oh, really? Thanks, Margaret!" Alison hugs Margaret tightly. "There's a Quidditch game today," she groans, "Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff."

"What's so bad about that?" asks Oliver.

"Because, Wood, it's an easy win on your part. Have you seen their team? The only good player they have is Hillsworth," Marcus explains, gesturing toward Margaret. "It's amazing they ever win any games at all."

"Sorry you two, but I'm skipping the game. It'll bore me to death and I've got to study for finals next week, anyway. Bye!" Alison calls, rushing away again.

"…right," Marcus scoffs. "I'm leaving, too. Gotta find Pucey or Higgs, they're kind of smart and I definitely need to study."

"Hey, we're alone," Oliver states, blushing.

"Yeah," Margaret replies, blushing as well. "It's gonna suck playing against each other today. Promise you won't be mad if I hit you with a bludger."

"Promise me you won't be mad when you lose."

"Promise," they both say before their lips meet in a passionate kiss.

* * *

Margaret, Oliver, Alison and Marcus all agreed to sit at the end of the Ravenclaw for the end-of-year feast. This was because the Slytherin table wouldn't have let Oliver (and possibly Margaret) sit with them, the Gryffindor table wouldn't have let Marcus anywhere near them, and Marcus refused to sit with the Hufflepuffs, who wouldn't have let him sit there anyway.

So, as it was time for the end-of-year feast, they were all gathered at the end of the Ravenclaw table, waiting for everything to begin. "How do you think you did on your finals, everyone?" asks Margaret. "I think I did alright myself, except maybe in Herbology and Arithmancy…"

Marcus states that he probably did terribly. Alison smacks him on the head, glaring at him and says "I think I did pretty well myself."

Oliver shrugs, grinning. "I put mostly Quidditch answers. I suppose that if you see them as analogies I did alright…" He stops, seeing the looks on their faces. "I'm joking," he admits. "I did that last year."

"Another year gone," Dumbledore says cheerfully, interrupting the chatter going on inside the Great Hall. "Now, the house cup needs awarding and I shall announce the points. In fourth place, Gryffindor house with 312 points. In third place is Hufflepuff with 352 points. In second, Ravenclaw with 426 points"—Alison took the time here to say that she couldn't believe they managed second place with all the house points she had taken away—"and in first place, Slytherin house with 472 points."

The Slytherin table erupts into cheers and Professor Snape applauds rapidly, while Marcus and Alison—along with everyone who didn't want Slytherin to win, including Margaret and Oliver—clap dully. "What's the matter?" Margaret asks, concerned.

Marcus shrugs, but Alison starts with an explanation. "Harry Potter and his friends snuck off and broke a bunch of rules but are about to get rewarded for it, that's what."

"Well done, Slytherin, well done," shouts Dumbledore. "But recent events must be taken into account." Snape stops clapping, the Slytherins stop cheering and Alison shouts "Told you!" as Dumbledore continues, saying "I have a few last minute points to award."

"First, to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best played game of chess seen in many years, I award fifty points. Second… to Ms. Hermione Granger, for her superior use of intellect in moments of grave danger, I award fifty points. And third, to Mr. Harry Potter for outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

The Gryffindor table—and Oliver and Margaret—erupts with cheers. "We're tied with Slytherin!" a few of them yell excitedly. "And finally… it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends. Therefore, I award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Soon, everyone—except for the Slytherins and Alison, who was staring at the Gryffindor table with an odd look on her face—was cheering. "I believe a change of decoration is in order," Dumbledore adds as the decorations changed to from Slytherin colors to Gryffindor colors.

"Look at that!" Alison suddenly yells. "That adorable kid Neville I was telling you about won the House Cup for Gryffindor! You better go thank him if you're that happy about it!" As Oliver and Margaret get up to do just that, Alison screams "Fuck!"

They soon got their test results back and they all passed. It was now time for them to leave and they were all clambering onto the train, with Alison jumping all over Marcus's back, as usual. That is, until she spots 'The Adorable Neville with a Dreadful Last Name' and jumps off Marcus's back to say hello to him and introduce them properly, pulling Oliver and Margaret over and introducing them as well.

After the introduction, they were off again. Alison grabs Marcus's arm and drags him around the train. Oliver and Margaret follow and soon they find a compartment in which they all sit. Alison then proceeds to lean her head against the wall, sighing. "At least I don't have to deal with stupid fucking Harry Potter anymore. Well, for now, anyway."

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter or the bits of dialogue that may have been directly quoted from HPSS/HPPS.

**A/N:** The end… Just kidding! Next Chapter: The start of Harry's second year. Yes! I'm so excited! Aren't you? You are? Really? Then please review!


	9. Chapter Eight: End of Summer

**Chapter Eight: End of Summer**

**A.K.A. Things Just Get Weirder and Weirder**

"Dear Margaret… oh, what should I write?" Alison taps her lips with the tip of her quill, thinking. "…I'm having a good… no. Dear Margaret," she says, writing furiously, "I hope your summer is still going well. I'm not having the best summer. After all, I haven't seen you since the end of school and I miss you terribly. We'll probably be getting our Hogwarts letters soon. I expect—wait, I just got mine."

She stops writing, popping the Hogwarts seal and opening the letter. "'Dear Miss Thornewell,'" she reads, "'we would like to remind you to catch the Hogwarts Express at King's Cross station on September the first.' Blah, blah, blah… 'Sixth year students will require: _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6_ by Miranda Goshawk,' and… a shit load of books by Gilderoy Lockhart? Right, I'll just give this to Mum in a minute…"

Alison begins writing once more. "Do you want to meet up tomorrow at Flourish and Blotts? One o'clock should be good, I think. I'm going to owl Marcus and you can owl Oliver if you want. Love from Alison." She rolls the letter up and wraps it around her owl's leg, telling him to take the letter to Margaret.

She then begins to scratch another message on a piece of parchment. "Marcus: I'm just writing to ask if you could be at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow at one o'clock. Margaret and I are meeting there to buy our books. I thought it would be a good idea if you came, too, because… I miss you. It would mean a lot if you came. Sincerely, Alison."

"Oh, bloody hell! I just sent the owl to Margaret's! Oh, well, I'll just go give the Hogwarts letter to Mum now." She scurries down the stairs, yelling "Mum! Mum, I just got my Hogwarts letter!" She skids across the hall, stopping right next to where her mother and father stood, along with a few guests. She holds out the letter for her mother to take, which she does. "Mum, I've just gotten my letter. I sent an owl to Margaret asking her if we could meet at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow. I thought that was when you'd want to go, since—"

"That's fine," her mother answers, reading over the list. "Oh, by the way, Alison, these are the Flints and their son, Marcus." Marcus steps up from behind his parents, smirking at Alison, who is holding back the urge to squeal and hug him. "The Flints work with me and your father in the Ministry and they will be joining us on our trip to Diagon Alley tomorrow. Now, Marcus seems to be about your age. Why don't you two go play with that Muggle contraption your aunt bought you?"

Alison sulks but nonetheless leads Marcus into the den, where they stand for a full two minutes, not saying anything. "Hi, Marcus," Alison says finally, "it's good to see you. I was just writing you a letter and—mph!" Marcus was kissing her. "W-what… what the _hell _was that? Are you insane?" she whispers fiercely, blushing. "Our parents are right over in the next room! And… and you… you just…"

"Relax," he drawls, pulling her toward him. "It's not a big deal."

"Um… yes, it is. And there is something wrong with you. You have never once tried to kiss me and I am very freaked out right now."

"There's nothing wrong with me, Alison. I just missed you, that's all." He kisses her again and she glares at him and pushes him away.

"If you don't cut that out I will kick your arse, you got that? Now, sit," she growls, sitting down on the couch. He follows suit, frowning miserably. "Oh, stop that. It's not that bad, you know. I only made you stop trying to kiss me."

"Fine," Marcus mumbles, looking away. "So are we going to… um, do whatever it was your mum was talking about, then?"

"No, we are not going to play that stupid Muggle game. We are going to talk about why you're here and…" She suddenly stops, having just spotted something at the other end of the room. "We're also going to discuss why that the stupid pansy Draco Malfoy is standing in the doorway."

"Nice show," Draco sneers, staying where he is. "Father has come by to discuss business at the Ministry. I wanted to come because I heard you would be here, Flint. I have a proposition to make, which my father is already talking about with your father so be prepared to say yes."

"What are you on about, Malfoy?" Marcus glares at him and Alison merely stays on the couch next to him, deciding it's best for her not to say, or do, anything.

"Father is going to offer the Slytherin Quidditch team brand new broomsticks if you let me on the team. You can just put Higgs on second-string or something. I'm sure he'll be fine with it, since we're getting him a broom as well. He will still be part of the team, after all," the blond states arrogantly. "And do call me Draco."

Alison was furious at that. Terrence Higgs did not deserve to be booted off the team, considering that he was the only other decent person on the team besides Marcus, although Marcus wasn't exactly decent. Terrence Higgs was the only other person who was on the team that she could stand and he was the only person she excluded when she called Marcus's 'friends' a bunch of fairies and poufs.

"New brooms?" Marcus gapes in awe, interrupting Alison's thoughts. Alison rolls her eyes, but doesn't intervene knowing that she can do nothing about it. Both Marcus and his parents would say yes; it would save them the trouble of buying a new broom themselves. And she was sure none of them cared about kicking Terrence off the team.

"That's right, brand new, shiny Nimbus 2001s for the entire team. I was even thinking of getting a broom for your girlfriend there to help persuade you…."

"No!" screeches Alison. If she got a broom her parents would be forcing her to join the House team and fly all the time. She could not handle that. "I mean, um, I don't need a broom. I'm not on the House team and I'd never use it, anyway, so don't waste your money getting me one. Besides, I'm sure he's already convinced."

"Wonderful," Draco says, smirking widely.

"Draco!" a voice roars from around the corner. Soon, a tall man who looks very much like Draco stood in the doorway next to him. "Draco, we're…" He stops in mid-sentence, spotting Marcus and Alison, who are still sitting on the couch. He raises an eyebrow and simply stares at them expectantly.

Alison stands up quickly, grabbing Marcus and pulling him up, too. She quickly walks over to Draco's father and bows politely. "Mr. Malfoy, it is an honor to meet you. And may I say that you look very handsome today," she says, eyes sparkling. She'd never miss an opportunity to suck up to an adult whom she could benefit from. Besides, her mother would go mad if she wasn't polite to Lucius Malfoy, who 'has lots of power at the Ministry, Alison. You should respect him and his son; and his wife if she ever comes out of that bloody mansion.' "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sir, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Alison Thornewell."

"Yes… Miss Thornewell," he says, the sneer leaving his face. He brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses it lightly, while she stares at him in apparent shock and well-hidden disgust. "Draco's told me all about you. And you are indeed intelligent and polite, not to mention beautiful; although your glasses do mar your eyes…"

"I'm Marcus Flint, Mr. Malfoy," Marcus cuts in jealously, stepping quickly in between them.

"You must be her boyfriend," Mr. Malfoy sneers, "and the captain of the House Quidditch team. I expect that Draco's told you about the… proposition. Your parents have already said yes. All that's left is for you to put Draco on the team… at the start of term, of course." He smirks at them, then turns to exit the room. "See you tomorrow, then, Miss Thornewell."

"Yeah, see you," echoes Draco, grabbing Alison's hand and kissing it, just as father had done earlier. He then proceeds to rush out of the house after his father before either Alison or Marcus can respond.

"Gross!" Alison shouts as soon as she hears the front door close. "Draco just kissed my hand and his father was being a pervert! That's disgusting! I was only being polite, you know. He didn't have to over-react and assume I was coming on to him! Merlin, did you see the look on his face? He looked like a bloody pre—mph!"

Alison exhales deeply and glares at Marcus before punching him in the stomach. He holds his stomach in pain, looking up at her in pitiful disbelief. "Don't give me that, Marcus!" she screams. "I warned you!"

* * *

"Alison!" Margaret yells excitedly, rushing over to Alison. They hug each other tightly then begin walking along the street together. "I haven't seen you all summer! How are you?" 

"I'm fine, Margaret. I would ask you, but that's the only thing I've been asking in the letters all summer. Anyway, we better hurry up and get inside Flourish and Blotts before our parents and possibly Oliver and Marcus—is Oliver coming?—start to worry or something."

"After we let our parents know we're still alive I want to go up on the top floor. I don't want to be down there with all that bustle and everything, getting squished up against all those people."

"Yeah," agrees Alison, following Margaret into the store. "And I can barely stand being in the same room with all these Lockhart fans, so I guess it will be alright… but I'm not leaning on the railing or looking over the edge!"

"Mum, Dad, Mr. and Mrs. Thornewell," Margaret says after having walked up to the front of the line, "we're here. Do you mind if we go wait up on the second level while you get our books?"

"No, we don't mind. Go ahead."

"Thanks," they call, running up the stairs, only to spot Oliver and Marcus, who are standing at opposite ends of a bookshelf, ignoring each other. Margaret is ecstatic to see Oliver, of course, and runs over to him and practically jumps into his arms.

Alison, having seen him the day before, was not that excited to see Marcus. And even if she was terribly excited, she was much too tired to do any jumping; into his arms or on his back or around him, in circles. Alison would not be jumping until two o'clock, when it didn't hurt to keep her eyes open. But maybe that had something to do with the fact that Margaret and Oliver were now snogging in the corner.

"Oi! Cut it out! I can barely keep my eyes open as it is!" Alison groans, sliding down to the floor with her back against the wall. She leans her head back against the wall, closes her eyes and yawns loudly. "Whose idea was it to be here at noon?"

"You wanted to come at one," Margaret says, pulling away from Oliver. "My mum didn't see what one hours difference would hurt and it looks like Marcus and Oliver's parents thought the same."

"No, no, not Marcus's parents," Alison drones sleepily, clutching Marcus's leg. "They were at my house yesterday. They thought that one o'clock was a good time, didn't they, Marcus? Your mum must've discussed it with my mum, who, in turn, told Marcus's mum to be here at noon, just to spite Alison. I mean me. And Oliver… well, he probably wanted to get here early to look at brooms or something. He likes waking up at ungodly hours of the day for Quidditch. It's ridiculous."

"Is not! Quidditch is very important!" Oliver shrieks. "And it's only noon! It's not even that early, you know. I _usually _get up at dawn to—"

"Ladies and gentleman," Gilderoy Lockhart suddenly booms from the first floor. "When young Harry stepped into Flourish and Blotts today to purchase my autobiography, _Magical Me_—" He pauses, letting the applause settle in. "—he had no idea he'd be leaving with my entire collected works… free of charge. Not to mention that he and his schoolmates will be getting a wonderful treat this year. I am pleased to announce that I will be taking the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"

"No!" Alison, Margaret, Oliver and Marcus all scream at once. "Not Lockhart!" Of course, everyone else seems quite pleased about it, but they were Lockhart's fans! How else would they react?

"Eck, that's awful," squeaks Alison, still sitting on the floor with her eyes closed. "But it's inevitable, isn't it? There's no way we could have avoided having a pretty-boy teacher at school. I mean, most teachers are horrible, but then, every once in a while, you have the occasional heart-throb sort of teacher. Of course, I prefer the horrible ones like Professor Snape; at least he's mildly pleasant."

Oliver was about to say that he thought Alison was mad when suddenly Draco Malfoy was heard below them, scoffing at Harry Potter. "Bet you loved that, Potter! _Famous_ Harry Potter, with your _scar_! Everyone worshipping you, _you_! And, of course, you make the front page with _Lockhart_!"

"Leave him alone," a small voice squeaks. The voice belongs to small red-headed girl, most likely a Weasley.

"Look at that!" he howls. "Potter's got himself a girlfriend!"

Draco's father came by, talking to Harry about something or other and they decided to tune everything out until there is a sudden crash. They all look down anxiously—except Alison, who is much too frightened; she looks down _hesitantly_—and see Arthur Weasley holding Lucius Malfoy by the collar, pushing him up against the bookcase.

There are several different voices in the air, each screaming a different thing. "No, Arthur, no!" is Mrs. Weasley. "Go, dad, go!" is the other Weasleys, mostly Fred and George. "Blood makes the grass grow! Kill, kill, kill!" That was Alison, who, immediately after having said it, slumps back against the wall and closes her eyes. Of course, after Alison's comment—although everyone thought it was due to Hagrid pulling them apart—the fight stops and the Malfoys run away like cowards, with Draco echoing his father as always.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or any dialogue that may have been directly quoted from the book. Nor do I own the phrase "Blood makes the grass grow! Kill, kill, kill!" It is, I believe, a trademark phrase of the evil night at the Renaissance Festival. I, of course, have only said it way too enthusiastically, loudly, and… not exactly with everyone else, but that was their fault because they didn't say the whole thing! 

**A/N:** Alright! First chapter for the second half! A quick note about the last chapter: the part with Neville has no significance. It is merely there because Neville is one of my favorite characters. As you read this story, you will see who my favorite characters are and you will also see which characters I despise. But of course you don't care about that.

Anyway, I have no idea how I will end this series thing… but I do know that it will not end until at least the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, which will probably not have any aspects from the movie, especially not the way the characters look—definitely not Remus Lupin, who will soon be Alison's favorite teacher; or second favorite, I haven't decided. That's enough spoilers, even though it's not really a spoiler. It should've been pretty obvious.

Anyway, I have here a wonderful site that has great fanart and the perfect Neville Longbottom (He's really adorable!) The only bad thing about it is that the lady running it hasn't drawn Marcus. Back to the point, though; the site is www . minstrel book . net(slash) hpbook . htm Just erase the spaces and add the slash, after taking out (slash) of course. Or youcould just search for Ayne's Harry Potter Gallery ona search engine...I don't own the site, mind you, so don't go saying I said I do.

A good review for a good chapter and a bad review for a bad chapter, but always a review for a story, especially a good story. (By the way, is that a fragment? It has, like, thirty words in that sentence! How is that a fragment? Oh, who cares…? Damn it, I'm tired!)


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